The Reasons Why
by BigMouth96
Summary: Seventeen year old Olivia Benson has dealt with a lot of horrible things in her life. She does not know it, but the saying really is true: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Rated M for language and content.


**This idea has been floating around in my head for a while now, so I guess now is as good of a time as any to type it. Hopefully this does not suck because I am as sick as a dog right now. Olivia is seventeen and a senior in high school.**

**Chapter 1**

Yelling. Arguing. That is how it starts. Every single fucking time. They are so God damn predictable. The best part is there is nothing I can do to prevent or stop it. This time I was downstairs when it started. I was sitting on the couch and watching my favorite show. Like usual, I grabbed my pug puppy, Rubble, who was tied up by the garage door and took her upstairs with me. I did not want her to get hurt in their crossfire.

I am now sitting on my bed. Rubble is on my lap. I can hear them, almost every single word, and they know it. They do not seem to care. I would be lying if I said I was not scared when they argue because I am. I am so freaking scared. Every single time. I am scared that the next fight will be the last because one of them would have died. If I could choose, I would hope my "step-father" would be the one to be six feet under. Does that sound horrible, that I want him dead? You would not think so if you knew what he did, what he continues to do. No, he has never "touched" me, but he did shove me one time when I was trying to defend my mother. That is what he does: hits my mother. He fucked up one of her fingers so bad it is permanently deformed. My mother is the one who hits me, but that is only when she is drunk or having a bad day. At least I know when it is coming. I can always tell. Chris, my "step-father," is unpredictable. I usually cannot tell when he is going to start.

I hear my mother shriek and hit something. I look out of my door and see my mother against her bedroom door, which is adjacent to my room. I flinch – it must have hurt. I notice Chris coming towards her. I assume he pushed her down the hall. They argue some more. She tells him he needs to leave and he tells her he is going to do just that. They walk to the living room.

Although I want to know what is happening, I am glad I do not have to see it. Seeing it makes me want to punch him in the face, which would be hard to do because of his size. He is six foot six and probably four hundred pounds, compared to my mom who is five four and one fifty. (He was not that large when they got together, but he has gained a considerable amount of weight in the ten years they have been together.)

My mother screams again. This time she says he has a knife. She yells to me, telling me to leave and call the cops. Everything happens so fast I do not have time to grab a sweatshirt or put shoes on. All I have are my phone, which is permanently attached to my hip, and Rubble. I rush past them and open the front door. I do not close it. I need to be able to hear what is happening. The neighbors across the street are watching. I do not think they are trying to be nosey. I think they want to make sure no one gets hurt.

I shiver. I am still in my pajama pants and a short-sleeved shirt because I was having a lazy Sunday and did not want to get dressed. I regret not grabbing a sweatshirt. Or shoes. Or a blanket. I text Alex, telling her what happened. She is my only friend who knows about any of this, and I plan to keep it that way. The text sends and I punch 9-1-1 in my phone. Right before I press the call button, my mom tells me not to call the cops. I sigh. This is what happens every fucking time.

One of the ladies from across the street brings me over a big, warm blanket. I thank her, my eyes watering. She tells me she has been through this and wants to know if there is anything she can do for me.

"No, it's okay. I've been through this before," I tell her. "But thank you for the blanket. It means a lot."

Just as my neighbor makes it on her property, I hear a slap from inside my house. My mother runs out, screaming. Chris follows her. She calls him out, saying he will not hit her in front of all of the witnesses. They argue some more. I am positive the whole block can hear them arguing. He walks back inside and brings out more belongings. I do not know if they are his or ours, but I hear my mother saying that some of it is hers. She follows him back into our house. Another slap can be heard.

"That's it! I've had it! I'm calling the cops! You're out!" my mother screams. She runs out of the house, holding her face.

I punch 9-1-1 into the phone again and hand her my phone. She talks to the 9-1-1 operator for a minute and hangs up. Within minutes, two cop cars, holding two police officers each, are here.

I cannot lie, it was nice watching the cops hold guns on Chris as he was handcuffed.


End file.
